A Demon on Both Shoulders
by TMOHzone
Summary: Days in the life of a monster-what was, what is, what could have been. Drabble and short-fic anthology. Latest: Carcer stands on the scaffold, counting the minutes he's got left. Drabble.
1. Like A Rusty Saw

**030. Death – "Like A Rusty Saw"**

Carcer Dun stood on the scaffold with the rope around his neck and smiled.

He was smiling, too, when they slammed the cell door shut and locked him up, the same cheeky grin he'd been wearing when they caught him. He was smiling when they cuffed him and brought him to the Palace to stand trial; cocky and confident, absolutely convinced of his own innocence.

He was smiling when they marched him to the gallows, but this time it was a different sort of grin – stiff, blank, and quite dead.

It was waiting for him when the rope went tight.

* * *

Disclaimer for all fics: Carcer Dun and all other Discworld characters and locales are (C) Terry Pratchett and are used without permission for entertainment purposes only. Carcer's astonishing multiplicity of relatives (C) TMOH -- please ask me if you want to use them for something.

All of these fics were written for fanfic100 prompts--the prompt is listed first in the title line, with its number, and the actual title of the ficlet follows in quotes. Sometimes they're the same, mostly they're not.


	2. Blue

**015. Blue – "Blue"**

For all the shapes and names they take, none of the gods can change the nature of their eyes, and it is these that betray their true character. Have deemed himself created in their image, man must, by necessity, be the same.

_His_ eyes are blue; the file at Pseudopolis Yard says so. But it is not the blue of a normal eye, the color of the sky on a clear day or a child's painting of the sea. It is colder, paler—almost frozen.

Preserved in the ice is a soul far older than its form. It grins from behind his eyes as he moves in for the kill.


	3. The Family Trade

**001. Beginnings - "The Family Trade"**

Mamertine Dun watched his sons nervously and wondered why he'd ever listened to his wife. The boys were now ten and twelve, and, yes, that _was_ old enough to start learning a trade, but…

And Eileen had said, but what?

And he'd said, a little unsurely, that a butcher's shop wasn't really the safest place in the world for a young child.

And _she'd_ said that the streets weren't either, and at least they'd be bringing in some money this way, and anyway Carcer would be thirteen soon enough, and no one could argue that _that_ was too young for any trade, and he hadn't known _what_ to say.

So he'd brought them to the shop. And, despite his uneasiness, they'd actually taken quite well to the work. He was showing them how to carve up a pig when Sullivan called him in from the yard.

He was only halfway to the counter when he heard the scream.

Carcer looked up at the men as they entered the yard. There was blood on his face; his hands; his shirt.

"I _tried_ to stop him," he said, "but he wouldn't _listen_." For a moment, Mamertine thought he saw him grin.

He never went to work with his father after that, but later, when the Watchmen started showing up on his doorstep, Mamertine wondered if his son hadn't taken up the family trade after all.


	4. Thicker Than Water

**003 Ends - "Thicker Than Water"**

Father Declan watched the jailer turn his key in the big iron lock, and he winced to hear it go _click_. The man nodded towards the cell.

"You got ten minutes."

Declan nodded. "I—I know. I've done this before." He stepped inside, and the door clanged shut behind him.

The prisoner looked round.

"Wondered if they'd send you," he said, and grinned. "Can't even bother lookin' at the man's name what's gonna swing, eh? If the Good Lord Deocaster ain't tellin' 'em, it ain't right for 'em to know…."

"I _volunteered_." Declan crossed his arms as defiantly as he could manage. He could feel his hands shaking.

"Even better." The prisoner leaned closer. "The file's up your sleeve, right? Or do they check those, now?"

"I didn't—"

"Under your hat, then? Or maybe it's inside the _Book_. That's downright _sacrilegious_, that is, haha. Always knew you had it in you—"

"I'm _not_ here to help you escape, Carcer."

The prisoner stared, his face utterly blank.

"But--but you're my brother," he said, after a moment.

"I'm a priest," said Declan to his shoes.

* * *

Note: "Deocaster" would be the name of the god Carcer's dad's family worships--it means something along the lines of "false god" or "inferior god." THE MORE YOU KNOW.


	5. Onomatopoeia

**037. Sound – "Onomatopoeia"**

Screams—of pain and fury. The clang of metal upon metal. The sound of his sword sliding from the scabbard. His own voice, gasping and choking.

"You're _nicked_, my ol' chum."

_Plib._

_Thump._

"Ohh…_shit_."

Carcer sat up, moaning and cursing, and looked down at himself. He was stark naked, covered in mud, and something in his head was throbbing.

Nothing new, then.

He stood up, a little unsteadily—_squelch_—and found that the foot he'd dragged out of the muck still had a boot on it.

_It_ still had its knife.

Footsteps—_squelch, squelch_.

"Who the hell—"

_Thunk_.

"Haha."


	6. In The Blood

**024. Family – "In the Blood"**

In the apartment over the butcher's shop in Elm Street, the butcher poked the fire one last time and looked up at his father's sword over the hearth. It had been there as long as he could remember, relict of the old man's days in the army.

It reminded Mamertine more of his brothers. Of course, _their_ swords hadn't come back from Klatch; their bodies hadn't, either.

Though he made his living carving up dead pigs and cows and sheep, Mamertine had always abhorred violence. When his brothers had enlisted, he was training to be a priest. If they'd lived, he might—

The floorboards behind him creaked, and he spun round. A man stood in the doorway, covered in mud and blood and dressed in a suit far too small for him. He pushed the matted hair from his eyes and grinned from ear to ear.

"Hi, Dad," said Carcer.


	7. Different Circumstances

**082. If – "Different Circumstances"**

The captain stood outside the door to the Oblong Office, studying the wallpaper with nervous precision. He'd known it would only be a matter of time before something like this happened. Patricians started seeing enemies everywhere because there _were_ plenty of enemies about, and it paid to be vigilant. Of course, the higher up you went, the more vigilant you had to be….

A youngish-looking clerk opened the door, nodded toward him, and said something—the captain didn't hear it, but it didn't matter. He went inside.

"Your Lordship."

The man in the chair grinned.

"Hullo, _Captain_ Quirke, haha."

* * *

Note: This was written for the prompt "If"--it's down another leg of the Trousers of Time from the actual ending of _Night Watch_.


	8. The One That Bought The Beef

**The One That Bought the Beef**

The sack hit the boards with a muffled _thump_ and the man with the bloody hands grinned at the doctor.

"Got another one for ya, Doc."

"Who—" Dr Hutchinson turned round, saw his visitor, and tried to smile.

"Oh…Mr. Dun." He stood up. "We weren't expecting you back so soon…"

"Well, death don't wait for nobody, Doc. Now, I believe the fee is…"

"Five dollars, yes." The doctor dredged the coins from his pocket and looked down at Dun's outstretched hand.

A drop of blood rolled down his finger and splattered on the floorboards.

Carcer watched it fall, then raised his hand to examine the stains. After a moment, he wiped it on his trousers. Then he held out his hand again, and the coins fell—one, two, three, four, five—into the hastily-scrubbed palm.


	9. Five Minutes to Go

**Five Minutes To Go**

Carcer watched the clerk out of the corner of his eye. The man was only halfway down the list of his crimes, and then there'd be the prayer—after what happened in the cells, he could only thank the gods it wasn't Declan—and of course they'd want to hear a good last speech, so…five minutes left, give or take. That'd be enough time, wouldn't it? Hell, he'd bet you could _run_here from the palace in less than that, if you tried.

A crow on the scaffold let out a loud _caw_.

There'd be a pardon. There had to.


End file.
